milliways_bar | Oct. 17th, 2009

Oct. 17th, 2009

For once, the weather in the bar (or rather, just outside the bar) almost matches the weather in Sunnydale. They're both approaching autumn, anyway, but for some reason the jacket that was just fine in Sunnydale is not exactly insulatory enough for use outside Milliways.

Buffy orders cider from the bar, swipes a dead leaf from her hair, and heads for the fireplace.

[OOC: I can't slowtime, but as long as I'm awake tonight, anything goes!]

ikissdhimbck

[OOMs:

You could be walking down the street
And who should you chance to meet
But that same old smile that you've been thinking of all day

You can turn the clock to zero, honey
I'll sell the stock, we'll spend all the money
We're starting up a brand new day

Handwavilly millitimed to the morning after Kate Warner's note. No warnings for the first link; Warnings for violence and language in the second.

To be continued...]

Current Music: "Brand New Day" - Sting

ostro_goth

Early in the morning, a Goth and a swan meet at the door of a bar...

The Goth wears a leather jacket and carries a motorcycle helmet; the swan wears a bit of a hangdog expression.

"After you," the swan says.

"Thank you," the Goth says, innocent of long, polite door-holding battles.

He opens the door and steps into a Tuscan farmhouse kitchen. The door closes.

The swan opens the door again and steps into a nondescript 20th century apartment. The door closes.

[[OOC: Mun is gone for a road trip, so it's better when my main pups make themselves scarce as well.]]

gorgonfondness

Know what's better than being almost halfway done with a pregnancy?

Being over halfway done with a pregnancy.

There's nice little kicks, there's more energy, there's some balance physically and mentally, and there's only one little problem.

A problem that has Mia walking into the bar, semi-against her will, and taking a seat at a table to mull things over. A waitrat has helpfully brought over this week's pamphlet and a menu from Miss Bar. Mia places an order for 2 1/2 to take back with her.

She exhibits the classic signs: twirling her hair, chewing on ice cubes, and every now and again she sighs with wistfulness and a touch of something that's very unlike Mia.

The pamphlet sums it up nicely:

Did you know that your growing belly is directly proportional to your sex drive? In other words, the bigger you get, the bigger it gets. As long as your pregnancy is going well, engaging in a little "love me do" is perfectly safe and healthy.

She knows, thank you very much. Better than she expected to know.

And she knows this wouldn't be a problem except for the fact that Dragonlight is open on Saturday.

When is Draco coming home for lunch?

notaphony.livejournal.com

Sounds like somebody's found the jukebox.

Annette Hanshaw was always a favorite of her mother's - granted, it's 1960 back through her door, which makes the song an oldie even by her standards, but at the first familiar strains of the jazz singer's voice, Joan's already beginning to sway in front of the jukebox, hips absently moving to the tune. A cigarette dangles between her fingers, and every now and then, she lifts it to her lips.

By the time the song ends, she'll be making her way back to the bar, humming the tune under her breath.

You can bump into her at any point before or after Annette finishes the song with her traditional send-off: that's all!

[ tiny jazz-listening tag: joan holloway ]

[ ooc: open until her next. ]

redefinevictory

[OoM: Kait visits the airible field on the Galweigh grounds in search of a flying lesson, and comes away with something very different]

Three days after talking to Aouel, Kait opens the door to the bar, and steps in looking every inch the Galweigh parata. Red silk skirt with a red corset (both with that faintly floral patterning) over a short-sleeved black lace underblouse. There is also a black lace shawl, and tiny rubies winking from the pins in her hair and at the corners of her eyes. Still, the dagger at her belt is the same, and she looks relieved when the door opens.

"Stay here," she whispers to the door, and shuts it. After a moment, the door reopens and she walks in properly, carrying a small package.

"Please give this to Prince Sameth?" She asks the Bar, passing over a small coin. The package vanishes, and in its place is a tall wine glass of cordial. Entertained – both at the unordered drink and the fact that it isn’t wine - Kait picks it up and turns to watch the crowd.

[ooc: and open until it scrolls!]

tiny!tag: kait galweigh

findthegeck

[OOM: The trade is made.]

It was about time.

Before long Sativa would be headed out to Vault City in the east, the next lead in her search for the G.E.C.K. With a name like that, there had to be something there.

Even if they made good time it would still take a few weeks to get there so she has to BE sure she's prepared. They had enough funds left to stock up on ammunition, food, water and a relatively fresh set of traveling clothes. The Vault suit was getting a little ripe despite her best efforts.

Currently she's at a table in a pair of Brahmin-leather pants and an off-white hooded top, cleaning and checking her weapons: sharpening her knife and inspecting every component of her pistols - the newer Desert Eagle and her older 10mm (no sense in not keeping a backup) - right down to the spring in the magazine.

Come say hi.

annoyed-heir.livejournal.com

There is a young boy looking rather sad sitting on a couch watching the fire. He is hugging his knees while trying not to cry. Crying in public is bad. At least here no one hates him, as far as he knows. This place was for some reason in his closet, but for some strange reason he isn't too shocked.

hadyougoing

[oom: Ava dreams.

... No.

I don't even know either.]

art-and-brian.livejournal.com

Justin got into trouble again on his last shift so he's playing it safe today. The Specials board simply reads;

Alcohol

It's possible he's in a bit of a mood.

'Bar's open.'

[OOC: After midnight, slowtime, yay!]

ellectrical

[OOM: From this -
But Daddy said no -

my girl's tougher than that.

Warnings for violence, language, allusions to abuse, and spoilers through Heroes 3x02.]

When she steps through the door, Elle nearly falls forward with the force of pushing herself from the other side. But she makes herself stop, instead falling back against the door, shutting it again. Her knees, already only lifted by what's left of the adrenaline that had charged through her, give way as she slips down, and she curls herself up against the wall.

The blood that drips to the floor is from cuts that slash over her palms – Elle's hands are open, held out in front of her, blood slipping between her fingers like water she can't catch. She's more aware of it than the gash across her forehead over her right eye, or the blood trickling onto her lips from her nose.

Her blonde hair is loose and also stained with it, and it has soaked into the back of her blouse, leaving traces on the wall as she slips. But this blood isn't hers.

Elle doesn't speak, staying huddled on the floor. Even if she had the voice to call for help, it doesn't look like she would – she stays still, arms resting on her folded knees with hands still held out, open, and watches the floor, the mess she's making, and nothing else.

[OOC: While any reaction is okay, actual interaction is plotlocked, sorry. No one else should really approach her right now.]

hear_the_voices

It's the seventeenth of October! That means it's only two more weeks till Halloween!

And that means Anna needs to figure out what she's going to be for Halloween.

And, once she has, what she's going to need for the costume.

So Anna has found a table, fished through her backpack and found a pencil and a piece of paper (among other assorted flotsom and jetsam that has not all made it back into the backpack yet) and is totally ready to come up with a plan.

trigger_man

Jack isn't sure how many days have passed since he got in here, a side effect of only sleeping a few hours at a time. He hasn't been down to the bar much, avoiding the noise and the bustle that makes him feel like he's about to jump out of his own skin. That, and the aches and pains from every bruise and pulled muscle and the broken ribs made it all too easy to just stay in bed when he couldn't come up with a good reason to leave it. It's not like he has anything to do, anything to return to outside.

He can only ignore his stomach for so long, though, when there's nothing stopping him from getting something to eat, and the walls of his room are starting to close in around him. Despite his preference to stay where it's quiet and where there aren't many people, he needs to get out of his room for a while, and so he heads downstairs to the bar. Maybe the memories of where he's been for the last twenty months won't feel quite so close and oppressive if he has something to distract him.

He walks into the bar slowly, scanning the room for threats and finding a spot on the bar that's out of the way and not terribly busy. He'll see how long he lasts down here tonight.

thursdays_angel

Shipbuilding is a painstaking task. Even in miniature.

A wide mouthed bottle sits to the side. As does a diagram and set of instructions (in Turkish—of all the ones Castiel has perused, these are the easiest to follow).

Castiel himself is bent over the small hull, fitting the first mast into place. Carefully, very carefully, he presses the mast backwards so that it lies against the deck. Then eases it back upright again. The masts have to fold back in order to fit through the mouth of the bottle, yet be stable enough to be pulled up again once inside. Castiel nods in satisfaction. One down.

Castiel has never really understood the enjoyment so many humans seem to derive from recreating bits and pieces of their world on a tiny scale: ships in bottles, model cars, train sets, doll houses, entire battlefields. But he believes that he is beginning to see the appeal. To focus intently on one small thing to the exclusion of all else. He sees where this could be deemed relaxing.

Of course, that may make it hard to get his attention this evening.

coconutextract.livejournal.com

Her expression remains numb as she walks out the front doors of Seattle Grace and into the door of Milliways, her eyes blank and empty, her steps almost like that of a sleepwalker.

The Chief didn't take away her license. But he might as well have.

If she's not a resident, what else does she have left?

You can't do this to me.
I'll have nothing left.

Her footsteps take her out of the bar, down the forest path and all the way down to the Caribbean inlet.

If anyone cares to go looking for her, that's where she'll be, still, until the moment she decides to walk into the water with every single stitch of clothing on.

stillbecoming

Buffy is by the fireplace, attempting to toast marshmallows on a polearm.

It's going about as well as you'd expect.

guppy_sandhu

[oom: Hospital Politics]

After a scary but productive day at work, Guppy is chilling with his baby son.

They are currently singing a song about a worm, (whose name is Wiggly Woo), with actions.

Come join in, laugh, mock, whatever takes your fancy.

1mojojojo.livejournal.com

Mojo Jojo likes pie. This is a little known fact.

But really, it's so yummy.

Do not get between an evil supervillain and his pie.

bannion_sight

[OOM: A visit to the infirmary brings with it injury, shock, and surprise for everyone.]

It's been a long, long day.

It's not over yet, either, as Kim couldn't sleep now if she tried.

She's sitting in a booth, both hands curved around a slowly cooling mug of black coffee as if for warmth. She's certainly not drinking it, that's for sure; instead, Kim seems preoccupied by staring down into the cup.